


The Calm Days

by atamascolily



Category: The Adventures of Sinbad (TV)
Genre: Character Study, Filling in gaps suggested by the series but never explored directly, Gen, Lots of head canons in one place, More or less Canon Compliant, No Plot/Plotless
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-22
Updated: 2017-09-22
Packaged: 2019-01-03 23:48:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12157293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atamascolily/pseuds/atamascolily
Summary: What does the Nomad's crew do on those calm days between adventures? Character study from Bryn's perspective, set towards the end of season two (post-"Stalkers").





	The Calm Days

When the weather was fair on long sea voyages - the sails billowing and full, the skies clear, the waves calm, no land or rocks or hazards in sight - the crew of the Nomad had time for relaxation and leisure. Someone had to be on the tiller, of course, and someone looking ahead for obstacles, but that was hardly a burden in such conditions, and a rotating assignments meant that no one person was unduly burdened with such work - unless it was Sinbad, who seemed to relish his time at the tiller, lost in his own thoughts. 

Cards and dice were common amusements, especially among the temporary crew that Sinbad hired. A rotating cast of characters, they rarely stayed for more than a few voyages - sometimes jumping ship at the first sign of a safe harbor, sometimes drifting away once it became clear a sailor's life wasn't a great fit, sometimes because they lied or cheated or drank so much that Sinbad let them go, although Bryn only saw that happen once or twice. More often than not, they died horribly en route in the pitched battles or monster attacks that she'd come to accept as an occupational hazard. Eventually, their presence began a sort of general background buzz of shipboard life, and she stopped paying too much attention to them. 

She got along with them well enough - Sinbad usually wouldn't take on anyone who was too prudish to sail with a woman aboard, a courtesy she greatly appreciated. He made it clear without saying a word that any disrespect to Bryn was an invitation to captain's justice and they wouldn't like the results. She could take care of herself, but Sinbad's stance greatly reduced both the incidents of harassment AND the pitched battles that inevitably lead to mysterious head injuries on behalf of the new crew when they "tripped and fell belowdecks". (Only one sailor had ever tried that, and he nursed a concussion and two black eyes in the brig for several days until Doubar had tossed him into the harbor when they reached Crete, close enough to shore that he wouldn't drown but enough to make the point to the others. Bryn, who could swim like a fish, found this to be an appropriate punishment for a man who couldn't take "no" for answer.)

When he wasn't at the tiller, Sinbad was walking amongst the crew, assessing their activity and spirits with the same calm energy he used for the wind and waves. He noticed everything. He had plenty of maps and charts, but the most important ones were in his head, and he kept records of every voyage and all of the accounts there too somehow. Except for two years where he'd mysteriously vanished, only to wash up on the Arabian coastline with a rainbow bracelet around his wrist, his memory was exceptional and vivid. She envied him that. His parents had died when he was a baby, but he knew their names, and his beloved older brother was first mate on his ship, and he knew who he was and what his life's work would be. 

(Bryn couldn't help but wonder why he could remember his past - up to a point - and she couldn't remember hers. Was it the rainbow bracelet, or was it something else? She didn't know. No guarantee she would ever know, really.) 

Sinbad wasn't much of reader, though he had a passion for adventure stories real and imaginary. His formal education was limited to what his guardian, the wizard Dim-Dim, had managed to teach him before he ran away to sea at the age of twelve, but his travels had given him a vast breadth of experiences that not even the best tutoring could match. 

It didn't happen often, but Sinbad could tell the most outrageous tall tales with incredible sincerity while he was drinking you under the table and you would believe it true. Every now and then during those moments, Bryn saw him relax, his laughter genuinely heartfelt. Just for a second, he'd drop his usual grim demeanor and be... well, happy. Lighthearted. Free. She wondered if this was a glimpse of the old Sinbad, the one she'd never really met, the one who'd been head over heels in love with a certain red-haired sorceress. 

He never mentioned Maeve's name after that first day Bryn had come aboard ship, but it swirled in the air around him like a ghost. He was haunted, she realized after a while, and he couldn't seem to shake himself free or admit his problem, which would have been the first step on the long road to healing. He was handsome - dear god, was he handsome - and he was chivalrous to her and he was kind, but despite the physical attraction she felt for him, it was clear his heart was not open to her. 

He seemed to value her company, though, beyond her value to the crew. Sometimes they talked, and sometimes they simply stood together on the decks without speaking, watching the waves and enjoying each others' company. When she spoke, he paid attention to what he said, and took it seriously, and engaged with her fully, and yet she always got the impression of something held back. He had his flings in port, which alternately amused and infuriated her, depending on her opinion of the woman in question, but he never seemed to open up to any of them, either. When she tried to probe, whether about his feelings or her own, he teased her and eventually she gave up. It just wasn't worth it. Maybe someday, somehow.... but not now. Not until he made his peace with the red-haired ghost or she returned from wherever dimension she'd departed to with the mysterious Dim-Dim. 

(There was that damn kiss, though. She wasn't sure why she had done it in the first place - jealousy, perhaps, wanting Sinbad to look at her the way he looked at those other woman who barely knew him, who didn't understand him the way she did. She hadn't expected him to kiss her back, hadn't expected it to stir up so many emotions, hadn't expected it to feel so good. She wasn't sure why the last bit had surprised her so much - she'd seen Sinbad kiss enough women to know that he was skilled at it, but she'd never expected to be on the receiving end of it herself. And then he'd gone off with another woman a few minutes later, as if nothing had happened, and they'd never spoken of it again. Maybe it was better this way, she'd eventually realized. After all, Sinbad could have a fling with these women and walk away, no strings attached. He couldn't do that with her - at least not without a lot of awkwardness and exactly the sort of emotional reckoning he wanted to avoid - so where else did that leave them? Still, she wished she hadn't opened that particular box, hadn't introduced that unnecessary complication into her life, hadn't given him and the crew that ammunition to tease her with even though - to their great credit - they usually didn't. Usually.) 

Doubar, on the other hand, loved telling stories: loudly and boasting, of his many adventures with Sinbad and a few on his own. But the stories he generally told, although interesting in and of themselves, were not the ones Bryn yearned most to hear. The most interesting stories were the ones he would whisper, and only after making sure his younger brother (and commanding officer) was safely out of earshot, a difficult prospect on such a small boat. Still, between him and Firouz, Bryn managed to get an idea of Sinbad's life and past prior to meeting him - as well as a description of Maeve, and Sinbad's relationship with her. It helped her to understand Sinbad, to interpret his shifting moods, and to not take it personally when he refused to open up to her yet again. 

Eating and drinking were of profound concerns to Doubar, no doubt, and he complained passionately when shipboard meals failed to live up to his expectations in terms of quality or abundance. He certainly appreciated the female form as much as his brother did, if not more so, although their taste in women varied widely. He loved to sing, and his knowledge of bawdy songs seemed truly inexhaustible (though he usually toned them down out of respect for her). 

Firouz wrote letters. He had a thriving correspondence, and was always dashing about looking for sailors heading to Tyre, Baghdad, Basra or Scroff (especially Scroff) to deliver his latest scientific missives to their intended destinations. He had parchment and ink in a little box he kept aboard ship - an ingenious contraption that could fold out into a small desk. When he wasn't actively constructing something, he was writing copious notes in a series of red-bound journals, or drawing complicated contraptions and formulas on scrap sheets of parchment. Sometimes he would lead the crew in games - "Rolling Ball and Falling Dragons" being a favorite- or pipe wild melodies on a little flute Firouz's mind was a bubbling fountain of invention, and he was always at work, his hands as active as his mind. 

Rongar's hobby was music. He had a small lute he'd picked up somewhere, and was constantly strumming away. Sometimes he and Firouz would play duets, but more often, he played alone. Quiet and stoic, his speech torn from him by a ferocious act of violence and violation, the music seemed to take the place of the words and feelings he could not express aloud. Bryn never recognized his tunes, and never heard the same one twice. Sometimes they spoke of wild places she had never been, rich and lush, - sometimes the open road, the call to adventure, his deep affection for his companions. Sometimes they spoke of deep, abiding regret, grief beyond measure, roads not taken, opportunities forever lost, pain of which she had only the barest inkling. 

Sinbad was calm and focused, but preoccupied with his own grief and too stubborn to admit it; Doubar alternated from gruff to jovial depending on the contents of his stomach; Firouz bubbled from creation to creation, often out of touch with the world around him because he was so focused on things that didn't exist yet. Rongar, however, seemed to be fully present, with a regal dignity that could not be taken from him no matter how crushing the circumstances. How could I not have realized he was a prince from the beginning, Bryn sometimes wondered. Yet in many ways he was the freest and happiest of them all, in spite of his suffering - or perhaps because of it? Bryn wasn't sure. She made a point to sit with him and practice her sign language, treating him like a person instead of a silent marionette who obeyed orders without complaints. He was a patient teacher and bore her stumbling attempts at communication with remarkable aplomb. She admired his sense of humor, and his reactions to the rest of the crews' antics were memorable and always worth watching.

In addition to the day-to-day tasks aboard ship she shared with the rest of the crew, Bryn's other job was to take care of Dermott, Maeve's hawk-that-was-more-than-an-ordinary-hawk, the responsibility that she had inherited from the vanished sorceress, along with her cabin and leather gauntlet. The gauntlet helped, she had to admit - Dermott could perch on her braceleted wrist without hurting her, but his talons were sharp and she appreciated the extra security and stability of the bird on her fist. She didn't do too much - Dermott mostly took care of himself - but he seemed to like her for some inexplicable reason, and she appreciated his company and the images he occasionally thrust into her mind, warning of danger. On land, he foraged for himself, but aboard ship, she fed him meat from the common stores and he would eat from her hand. Dermott seemed to have an uncanny ability when it came to people - to know who was trustworthy and who wasn't, to see through magic and illusions. She tried to talk to him, and he seemed appreciative, but he never responded. 

Sometimes Dermott would soar aloft on the thermals, circling above the ship for hours before perching on a beam or on her fist. Other times, especially after a meal, he slept. Dermott seemed to ignore everyone on the crew except for her and Sinbad, although he was often skittish and standoffish with the captain, and Sinbad seemed to return the favor. She wondered if things would be different between them if Maeve were here, or if they'd just always been like this. 

On the calm days, Bryn found herself drifting from activity to activity, unsure of what she really liked or who she really was. Sometimes she listened to Doubar's stories or Rongar's music, her mind bubbling with questions about her past and her future that no one could answer even had she asked them. Sometimes she helped Firouz make a poultice or piece together his latest contraption (though usually he got Rongar to help him with things like that). Sometimes she stood above deck with Sinbad and watched the water and sky, and sometimes Dermott was with her and sometimes he wasn't. 

She remembered how to read and write. She remembered all sorts of useful things, like how to kick a man in the face and in the balls, how to swim and how to sew, where Crete was in relationship to Tyre, popular legends about the Man in the Moon. She remembered all sorts of trivia except for what really mattered: who she was and what her life had been like before she washed up on a beach on a godforsaken island inhabited by monsters intent on killing her (which still happened from time to time with Sinbad, although now she usually had company). 

She tried not to mourn what she couldn't remember and couldn't change, tried to not be stuck in the past the way Sinbad was stuck - no good could come from that. Still, on those calm days with nothing to distract her, she couldn't help wondering: Who am I, really? What is the magic that possesses me without warning from time to time and how do I control it? What happened to me? Will I ever belong anywhere again? 

Eventually, after a year with the crew and many strange adventures and ordinary voyages, she realized that whatever and whoever she used to be, she belonged here now, in Sinbad's crew. These strange men - and one hawk - have become almost a family for her, filling in for whatever family she may have had Before. Sinbad, too, is searching for an answer to the mystery of the rainbow bracelets, and Sinbad is very good at finding answers (or having the answers find him, she isn't sure which). As long as she kept traveling with him, eventually she'll find out the truth. 

So on the calm days, Bryn sat and waited patiently. No answers are likely to come on the calm days, because answers are messy and painful and, in her experience, usually involve adventure, struggle, danger - all of the things that the calm days, by definition, are emphatically not. Still, the calm days were beautiful, in their slow quiet way, and even if they didn't satisfy her need to unlock the mysteries of her own past, she enjoyed the opportunity to be with her friends. Life was short. Best to enjoy what she could, when she could, while it lasted.


End file.
